


i will come to you in need, and i'll help you when i can

by MelikaElena



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bewildered!Monty, Flirty!Miller, Fluff with feelings, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sick Fic, but sadly not the other F word :/, featuring Mom!Bellamy, maybe next time, oh and a LOT of flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 04:33:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8272960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelikaElena/pseuds/MelikaElena
Summary: “Hey--” Monty said, stopping abruptly. Miller was sitting up in bed, shirtless, the white sheets of his bed pooled around his waist, making it look as though he wasn’t wearing anything at all. He looked worn out and groggy, his face damp with perspiration, his lids heavy as he gazed up at Monty from underneath his long lashes. If Monty didn’t know any better, he’d say Miller looked sexed-out.To Monty’s shock, Miller grinned lazily at him. “Hey, M’nty,” he slurred. “Come to play doctor?” Monty gets roped into taking care of a sick Miller, despte the fact that Miller doesn't like him all that much.A drugged-up Miller disabuses him of that assumption.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Me to Jenn, Tuesday night: That Minty soulmate fic burnt me out. I'm not planning on writing anything any time soon.
> 
> Me to Jenn, Wednesday afternoon: Fuck, I'm home sick and I'm gonna write some Minty Sick Fic. I have a problem.

****Bellamy looked terrible, dark smudges under his eyes, frazzled curls, his glasses smudged and askew.

 

Monty raised his eyebrows at him as they stood in aisle four of the local grocery store, where they happened to run into each other. “You o… you okay, man?”

 

Bellamy blinked for a moment, eyes focusing. “Oh, yeah! Yeah, I’m… I’m good.”

 

Monty gave him a look. “Your shopping cart full of NyQuil, tissues, and chicken stock tells me otherwise.”

 

Giving up acting normal, Bellamy slumped onto the handle of his cart. “It’s awful,” he moaned. “Clarke, Octavia, _and_ Miller are all sick, and I can’t take care of them all at once!”

 

Monty squinted at him. “Bellamy, they’re all adults. They can take care of themselves.”

 

Bellamy looked at Monty as though he told them that pigs could fly. “No, they can’t.”

 

“Bellamy, you’re not actually their mother. They’ll be fine.”

 

Now Bellamy gave him a look. “Clarke is terrible at being sick. And so is Octavia! So is Miller! They’re all terrible!”

 

Monty took pity on his friend, and vaguely hoped that he and Clarke would never have children. “Calm down. Okay, here’s what you’re going to do. You’re only going to take care of one person.”

 

Bellamy’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “I don’t know how you’re expecting me to choose between my girlfriend, my sister, and my best friend, Monty, but--”

 

“Lincoln will take care of Octavia,” Monty said pointedly. “You know? Her boyfriend?”

 

“His chicken soup is nowhere near as good as my chicken tinola,” Bellamy said, eyes narrowed.

 

“Give him the damn recipe,” Monty said, rolling his eyes. “Or, just make as much as you were going to, and Lincoln can pick it up, and whatever supplies you have for Octavia, on his way home from work. Okay?”

 

Bellamy muttered, “Fine. But that still leaves Clarke and Miller.”

 

“Can Wells or Raven take care of Clarke?”

 

“ _No one_ will take care of Clarke besides me after Winter of 2014.”

 

Monty thought about it. “Fair,” he deduced.

 

“Or Miller, come to think of it. Remember Spring of 2012?”

 

Monty winced. “I wish I didn’t,” he said. “Okay…” He thought about it, and then came to a decision. “I’ll take care of Miller. Okay?”

 

Bellamy’s eyebrows disappeared into his forest of unruly bangs. “You will?” He said. “Do you even _like_ Miller?”

 

Monty shrugged. “I don’t _disl_ ike him,” he said. “Honestly, I always thought Miller didn’t like _me._ He’s a little… standoffish, but fine.”

 

Bellamy’s lips curled up. “This is gonna be great,” he said. “Okay, well, I owe you one, okay? Like, I owe you a lot.”

 

Monty grinned. “Isn’t it Miller who’s going to owe me?” He said.

 

“He’s gonna _love_ that,” Bellamy said, and they both laughed, although Monty got the distinct feeling that they weren’t laughing at the same thing. He shook it off, however, and went to check out his own shopping cart. So much for his Friday night plans.

 

He patiently waited for Bellamy to check out, and the two walked out to their cars together, Bellamy handing him a grocery bag full of things he’d already divided up for Miller.

 

“You sure his apartment door will be unlocked?” Monty asked.

 

“Yeah, he never listens to me about safety,” Bellamy said. “Thanks again for doing this, Monty. I’ll come drop off some chicken tinola for Miller, but I owe you. Really. I know you and Miller haven’t always gotten along, but I really appreciate it, and I know he will, too.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’m happy to help you out.”

 

Bellamy gave him a wry grin, as if saying he noticed what Monty deliberately said. “Let me know if he’s being more of a dick than usual,” he said.

 

“I can handle it,” Monty said. “I’m not scared of Nathan Miller.”

 

“Which makes you the right man for the job,” Bellamy said cheerfully as he rolled his shopping cart away. “See you later!”

 

Monty surveyed his trunk, filled with groceries and cold and flu supplies. What had he gotten himself into?

 

* * *

 

Monty didn’t know how, exactly, he and Nathan Miller got off on the wrong foot. They had met a few years before as juniors in college, united by their mutual friends-- Clarke and Bellamy-- who had started to date. Monty was dating Harper at the time, still trying to figure out his own sexuality, and Miller was at the tail-end of a relationship with his high school boyfriend, Bryan.

 

Monty thought he was a likeable guy, and he knew that Miller was grumpy, but for whatever reason he was slow to warm up to Monty. Monty, not used to someone being so cold to him, was offended, and after a while treated Miller with equal coolness. If he was being honest with himself, Monty supposed that Miller had been starting to warm up to him just as Monty began to give up on him, but Monty had more personal pride than he cared to admit, so he didn’t bother to rectify the situation, and to be honest, it didn’t really bother him over the years. He and Miller were cordial, friends of friends, and that was all anyone could ask for, really.

 

So doing something like this-- going to his apartment (something he’d only done a few times before, and always in a group,) to _take care of him_ \-- was completely out of the ordinary for their acquaintanceship.

 

But he did like Bellamy; he treated Clarke well and Monty considered him a friend, so he would do this for him. Monty stopped by his apartment to change into more comfortable clothes and put away his own groceries, grabbing his laptop just in case Miller was asleep and Monty had a lot of downtime, and he was off again to Miller’s apartment.

 

He’d forgotten that it wasn’t too far from his own, and was lucky that he remembered which apartment was Miller’s. True to Bellamy’s word, the door was unlocked. Bellamy also claimed that he would text Miller telling him Monty was on his way over, but for some reason Monty didn’t believe him, so he texted Miller himself.

 

“Miller?” He called out softly. “It’s Monty. I’m-- I’m helping Bellamy out.” Because _taking care of you_ sounded way too intimate.

 

“M’nty?” A drowsy voice called from the direction of what Monty assumed was the bedroom.

 

Miller’s apartment was nice, Monty thought. Nice countertops, nice floors. Minimal, but still homey. He was duly impressed, he thought, as he went to the bedroom.

 

“Hey--” he said, stopping abruptly. Miller was sitting up in bed, shirtless, the white sheets of his bed pooled around his waist, making it look as though he wasn’t wearing anything at all. He looked worn out and groggy, his face damp with perspiration, his lids heavy as he gazed up at Monty from underneath his long lashes. If Monty didn’t know any better, he’d say Miller looked fucked-out.

 

To Monty’s shock, Miller grinned lazily at him. “Hey, M’nty,” he slurred. “Come to play doctor?”

 

That grin was dangerous, he thought; it caused a lightning bolt of lust to go straight to his dick. _You’d think it’d be the abs,_ Monty thought dazedly, those lickable pecs or delectable arms or those fucking _eyelashes_ . But nope. He had seen all of those before-- at the beach, after an intramural soccer game, you name it-- but that grin? Holy _shit_.

 

“Uhh,” Monty hoped he wasn’t as red as he felt. “Sorta. Yeah.”

 

Miller smirked. “You’re gonna have to come closer to do that,” he said.

 

Monty almost wondered what the hell Miller was on, to be acting this way, but then he saw the depleted bottles of Dayquil and Nyquil and his answer was clear. This wasn’t normal behavior, just the side effects of illness and cough syrup. “Not too close,” he joked weakly. “Don’t wanna get sick myself.” He picked up the thermometer on Miller’s nightstand. “When was the last time you took your temp?”

 

Miller shrugged. “A few hours ago? You gonna take it again?”

 

“We probably should,” Monty said, eager to have someone-- _something_ to do. “You look-- warm.”

 

“I look _hot,_ ” Miller clarified, with that infuriating grin. “Let’s not beat around the bush here.”

 

“Uhh,” he almost dropped the damn thermometer. “Open up.”

 

“Say please, baby,” he purred, “and I’ll do whatever you want.”

 

Monty nearly choked. “Goddammit, Miller,” he said, hastily putting the thermometer in his mouth so he wouldn’t speak anymore. “Let’s, uh, let’s get these cough syrup bottles away from you, okay? I think you’ve had enough.” He gathered up the empty water jug and took that, too, just to get away from him.

 

In the kitchen, as the jug filled, Monty pressed his hands to his cheeks. What the fuck was going on here? For _years_ he didn’t think Miller liked him, and now he’s-- god, was _flirting_ even the right word? The man was _seducing_ him, for fuck’s sake.

 

And, okay, Monty had always thought Miller was cute, and in those early days, _might_ have had a bit of a crush on him, hence cementing his conclusions that yes, he was in fact bisexual. But they were both in relationships and Miller was so cold, and… well. It was never an issue after that.

 

 _Miller’s going to be so embarrassed when he sobers up,_ Monty thought grimly as he took the water back in. Miller was right where he left him, thermometer still in, and Monty grudgingly took it back out again to read the temp. 101 degrees. Bad, but not terribly so.

 

“How are you feeling?” He asked. “Hot? Cold? Do you need a shirt?”

 

Miller smirked. “Why?” He said. “Can’t handle this, baby?”

 

Monty sputtered. “Miller!” He said. “Jesus _Christ_ , I know this is the cough syrup talking, but this is ridiculous.”

 

Surprisingly, Miller sobered. “You know,” he said, acting as if he never heard Monty’s complaints, “I never liked that you call me Miller.”

 

Monty startled as he started unloading more kleenex from the grocery bag Bellamy handed him. “What?”

 

“You used t’call me Nate,” Miller said softly. “In the beginning. When we first met.”

 

Monty nodded slowly. “I did,” he said. “And I stopped because I never thought you liked it.”

 

Miller sighed. “I did,” he said. “Too much. You should call me Nate again.”

 

Monty raised his eyebrows. “Oh, yeah?” He said, humoring him. “But won’t you like it too much?” Not that his reasoning made any sense, but Monty just decided to go with it.

 

Miller sighed again, dramatically. Christ, Monty now understood how he and Bellamy were such good friends. “Yeah,” he said. “But I’ve stopped trying to fight it.”

 

Monty let out a laugh, crossing the room and turning to dump the old kleenex box in a trash bin overflowing with used tissues. Gross. “Fight what?”

 

“My feelings for you.”

 

Monty froze, his back turned as he emptied the trash. “Your-- what?”

 

“My feelings. I always liked you more than I should. And I hated it. So I was a jackass to you to keep you away and I hate it, I hate it so much, baby.”

 

Monty felt like he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t turn back around, his heart hammering hard in his chest, his body heating up. He didn’t understand what was going on. What was happening? Who was this man? “I…”

 

“It’s okay,” Miller murmured. “I know you hate me. I hate me, too. I just wish-- I wish I could go back and do it all over.”

 

Monty swallowed. “What would you do differently?”

 

“Be your friend,” Miller said wistfully, to Monty’s surprise. “We were with other people, and I wouldn’t wanna be a dick, but… I wish we were friends. I wish I knew you more. I wish you knew me.”

 

“I want to,” Monty croaked, surprised by how true it was. His back was still turned; it felt almost safer like this, not seeing each other. “I want to know you.”

 

“I miss you,” Miller murmured, sounding sleepy. “I miss you and I don't even really know you. Isn’t that strange?”

 

Monty felt his throat close up. “No,” he said hoarsely. “Not at all.”

 

Miller didn’t say anything else for a while, and Monty finished up and turned back around. He had gone under his comforter, the sheets pulled up halfway up his chest, and he was sprawled across his pillows and bed.

 

Monty got a text from Bellamy saying he was on his way, and Monty finished up, making sure Miller had enough kleenex, water, and an empty trash bin. He put the cough syrup in the bathroom, not too far away from Miller, but not close enough where he could have too much again.

 

Monty still wasn’t quite sure what to make of Miller’s declarations, but knew he couldn’t think about them fully until later, when he was back in his apartment and not here, surrounded by Miller. As he turned to go, a hand caught his wrist, and Monty startled. Miller’s eyes were half-open, his face open and warm. “You leavin’?”

 

“Bellamy’s bringing some soup,” Monty said. “I’ll put it in the fridge for you to heat up later, since you’re going to sleep, but yeah, I’m gonna go home soon. You have my number, remember? Call me if you need anything.”

 

“Come back t’morrow?”

 

Monty hesitated, but he didn’t have any plans tomorrow. He was just worried that Miller would wake up better and not remember why Monty was at his door. “Okay,” he said.

 

“Good. Bye, M’nty.”

 

“Bye… Nate,” Monty said, and he was rewarded with another dazzling smile from Miller. Monty could feel it in his chest.

 

 _Oh shit_ , he thought. _I’m so fucked._

 

* * *

 

“How’s our patient doing?” Bellamy asked when he showed up a few minutes later. He looked considerably better than he had a few hours earlier; having only one surly patient versus three was a lot easier for him.

 

“A little delirious,” Monty said honestly. “Reminded me of someone who was drunk.”

 

Bellamy studied him closely. “Oh, yeah?” He asked, striving for levity. “Say anything interesting?”

 

Monty narrowed his eyes at him. “Maybe,” he said. “Any guesses?”

 

They stared each other down for a few moments, before Bellamy broke. The man was definitely going soft in his old age. “I’m guessing he confessed his feelings for you?” Bellamy asked wryly. “Wait, of course he did, because if he didn’t, I’ll just go off myself for being a terrible friend.”

 

Monty laughed. “Nah, don’t worry. He definitely did.” Monty shook his head. “I had no idea.”

 

Bellamy sighed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He gave him another wry look. “Not to put too much pressure on you or anything, but uh, have you thought about what you’re going to do next?”

 

Monty held out his hands helplessly. “He wanted me to come back tomorrow. I’m not scared off; I’ll come back. The rest is up to him, I think.”

 

Bellamy nodded. “That’s more than fair,” he said. “For what it’s worth, he’s a good guy and I’m glad you’re hearing him out. That said, do what feels right.”

 

“Thanks, Bellamy,” Monty said. Overbearing mom tendencies aside, he really was a great friend.

 

“Have a good one, Monty,” Bellamy said, heading out.

 

 _Easier said than done,_ Monty thought. “See you later, Bellamy.”

 

* * *

 

10:30 AM saw Monty at the door of Miller’s apartment again. He decided to knock this time just in case Miller was up and about, and he was glad he did when the door opened a few moments later.

 

Miller, dressed and looking sober and sheepish, answered. “Hey,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, looking at Monty shyly through his lashes. “You, uh-- you made it.”

 

Monty’s lips quirked up. “My patient last night wouldn’t take no for an answer,” he said. “It looks like you’re feeling better, though. Want me, to uh--”

 

“Don’t leave,” Miller burst out. “I mean, if you want to, um, of course you can, I don’t want you to feel like… and if you don’t want to catch my cold… I mean, I’m out of the contagious stages now, so you’d be fine, but if you wanna go, that’s fine… but if you do, um, want to stay, I’d, uh, love to make you breakfast, as a thank you.”

 

It was the most Miller had ever said to him at once, and the most awkward Monty had ever heard him.

 

He said yes.

 

Miller looked visibly relieved as Monty came in, and he could smell fresh coffee and toast being made. Miller went into the kitchen and started pulling out eggs and bacon. “Coffee?” he asked.

 

“Please,” Monty answered, thinking of his restless sleep. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Better,” Miller said. “Bellamy’s soup helped a lot, as did, uh, your excellent care. Thanks again.”

 

“Don’t mention it,” Monty said, and then both men tensed. “I mean--”

 

“We don’t have to mention it,” Miller said lowly, handing Monty a mug of coffee with cream and no sugar, just how he liked it. “If-- if you don’t want to.”

 

Monty kept his gaze steady on him as he took a sip. “What do _you_ want?” He asked.

 

Miller looked away briefly, his throat working. “I want-- I meant everything I said,” he said. He winced a little. “It was, uhh, not the way I would’ve liked to say all of it, but then again, I probably wouldn’t have said _any_ of it if I wasn’t drugged out of my mind. So.”

 

“So you want us to be… friends. Or…” Monty said slowly.

 

“More is ideal,” Miller admitted bluntly. “But I’m willing to take what I can get. I just don’t want-- I don’t want to go back into the Ice Age, you know?” He caught the look on Monty’s face. “And it was my fault, I know, but--”

 

Monty shook his head. “Not all your fault,” he said, “I knew you were trying to be nice to me ages ago, but I was too stubborn and proud to give in. We could’ve been friends sooner.”

 

Miller tensed, then relaxed a little at the word _friends_. “Right.” He said. “So, friends?”

 

Monty thought for a minute, then set his mug down decisively. “You’re not contagious anymore?” He asked abruptly.

 

“What?” Miller said, eyes a little wide. “No, I’m not, why--”

 

“I wanna test something,” Monty murmured, his eyes on Miller’s mouth, as he reached up, one hand sliding to the back of Miller’s neck, and the other curving around his jaw and neck, his lips brushing Miller’s.

 

Miller reacted right away, pulling Monty closer, his arms going around his hips. Their heads tilted to find the right angle, and Miller’s tongue brushed against Monty’s lips as he opened for him, and Miller took control, kissing Monty wet and dirty, causing him to moan.

 

The toaster ringing startled them both, and Monty broke the kiss.

 

“So?” Miller murmured. “Did I pass?”

 

Monty nodded. “We’ve been friends long enough,” he said, “or, uh, friendly enough. I want more, too.”

 

Miller let out a surprised breath. “Seriously?”

 

Monty pulled back. “I wanna go slow,” he said. “Date. Get to know each other like you-- like _we_ \-- both want. But yeah. Let’s go out, Nate.”

 

Miller’s face broke out in such a smile that Monty’s breath nearly caught. “Anytime you want.”

 

Monty put the back of his hand against Miller’s forehead. “Eh, we can wait a couple days,” he teased. “Until you’re 100%.”

 

Miller rolled his eyes. “You’re worse than Bellamy,” he grumbled.

 

Monty’s eyebrows raised. “Yeah, but I’m sure it’ll be more fun for me to ‘play doctor’ than him, I hope,” he said.

 

Miller blinked, and then a slow grin stretched across his face. “I like the way you think,” he said, squeezing Monty’s hips.

 

Monty laughed. “Enough of that,” he said, feeling so happy, feeling dazed, wondering how 24 hours made such a big difference. “I want breakfast.”

 

“So greedy,” Miller stepped away and shook his head, getting out the eggs. “This is how it’s gonna be, isn’t it,” he said, a spark in his eye, shaking his head in mock-exasperation, “you just getting everything you want.”

 

Monty grinned. “Hey, now,” he said. “Don’t forget-- you’re getting everything you want, too.”

  
Miller looked over at Monty, lips quirking, dark eyes soft. “Yeah,” he said. “I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> I looked up "Filipino Chicken Soup" for Bellamy to make, but if this isn't quite right/authentic, let me know and I'll change it!! (I know there's a tumblr post about people I can go to for Filipino/Bellamy questions, but I can't find it, I'm sorry!!)


End file.
